Strong and Stable
by PichuSwablu
Summary: Will and the FBI are hunting a killer who targets men he takes an interest in. Things go left when that interest falls on Will Graham. I've been working on this story for super long! I'm excited to release a chapter a day until July 2nd for Fuller Feast! Please enjoy! (Victims of the killer are implied to have been raped, but there are no explicit scenes of rape in the story)
1. Chapter 1

Will was tired. He hadn't had a comfortable sleep since the Hobbs case, and even then sleep was never really fulfilling. He had been daydreaming more often, about visiting Abigail, and taking care of her, about finding some good way to apologize to her for everything. He found himself forgetting the things he needed to do to stay alive, like eating or drinking something other than scotch. Lately he got his best meals at Hannibal Lecter's place. Despite Hannibal's darkly tinged gothic home, he felt rather comfortable there. Maybe it was just because he was always close to Hannibal, his therapist, whose job it was to make him feel secure. Maybe therapy actually was working on him. Will looked up. The lecture hall was empty, which was good, Will could focus in empty rooms. He reached for a bottle of- something whatever could tame his unshakable hangover, and grabbed a case file. He watched the pictures and notes spill from its opening before setting it aside. He sighed, swallowing two pills and looking back on the notes. All of the victims were men, early 30's, good looking, all of them had been reported to be in a same-sex relationships before they were-

"Will?" Will stopped, turning slowly from his work. stood in the doorway, his coat wrapped neatly in his arms.

"Will." The man said again, walking towards him, "I've been calling to you for quite some time." Will stared at him before diverting his gaze. He was well-dressed as always. His darkly striped jacket hid a blue vest, and a tie.

"Sorry, , I was focusing on" he took a second to spread his arms to the pictures scattered across the table, "this." Hannibal looked at him, there was something in his still eyes, that Will couldn't place. An emotion that was close to concern, but not quite.

"Jack Crawford told me you woke up by a river bed."

"It wasn't a river, it was a lake." Will corrected, still facing the pictures.

"I must insist that you tell me whenever you wake up in strange places, Will." He rolled his eyes. He always woke up in strange places, what was the point of reporting each and every one.

Hannibal held his gaze silently before turning to the pictures as well. He picked one up, examining it.

"The killer sprawled this body out on the bed.."

"Yes." Will interrupted "Yes, that's his style, he kills men in their prime, and leaves them in some type of- sexual position."

"Sexual insecurity is most usually the violent blossom of abuse." Hannibal said, placing the picture down.

"All killers have been abused in some way.." Will replied with a shake of his head. "This one was just abused in the most obvious way."

"This man.." Hannibal paused for a moment, "Is unsure of himself in almost all other fields."

"Yes," Will said "B-C student, community college, social outcast, no real romantic relationships just fantasies."

"But he is sure of himself when he kills. Death is where he lives his fantasies." Will pondered the theory. If he was ever forced to work with someone, he'd hope to it would be with Hannibal Lecter, he had a way of making the pieces fit a little easier.

"Will?" Jack Crawford stood at the doorway catching his breath, "We found another body, , you're free to join us."

"I think I will." Hannibal said, his tone confident for what he just agreed to face.

It took them about 30 minutes to get to the site of the murder with the help of an ambulance and FBI cars. Will stepped out, looking at the house in front of him. Jack walked with him to the front steps and swung the door open.

"He's in the bedroom." Jack said. Will barely nodded.

"Where's Hannibal?" Will asked, navigating his way through the house. Jack paused, peaking out a window.

"He just got here, I'll tell him to come on in when you finished examining the body." Jack said. Will thanked him lightly. The bedroom door was already opened. Beverly Katz stood behind and Zeller. Her eyes studying the body with ease.

The man laid nude over the sheet of his bed, a wound stung from his leg. His hands and ankles were held with handcuffs. Will wasn'tl, he had pictured something along these lines.

"His name was Paul Raton. The killer entered the home, shot him in the leg, stripped him down and tied him up. A ball gag was lodged into his throat." Katz stated, walking to Will.

"Classy." Zeller said.

"Extremely. Then our killer raped him, and let him bleed out all over the bed sheets." Price finished up.

"Poor bastard." Jack said under his breath. With a sigh, he swirled a finger "Alright, everybody out."

Will listened to them file out of the room. He closed his eyes.

 _I step into the bedroom. I know that Paul will be waiting there. But not for me, he is happy with his sin. That is why he has to die._ Will lifted a pistol _I shoot Paul Raton in the leg,_ he pounced on the body, grabbing for his hands first. _I tie him to the bedposts, I prepare him for me, and only me. This is my design._

Will stepped out of the bedroom, wiping sweat from his forehead. Jack stood waiting and behind him, Hannibal, looking calmly out the window.

"What did you see Will?" Jack asked.

"It's the same killer. He is angry and specifically jealous of his victims. He made a mockery of their memory. He tried to make them give what he lacked and they had. A partner." Will took a moment to breath, "He also didn't finish the job."

"So he'll be back." Jack said quietly. Will nodded. "Would you like to take a look at the body, ." Hannibal paused at the offer.

"A quick one, if you'll allow it." Hannibal said.

"Of course" Jack responded. Hannibal turned to Will, a little smile gracing his lips

"I will meet you outside in just a moment."

Will held his jacket closer to him, it was mid fall, the outside air was getting colder. The last of the tree's leaves were wilting into a dirty brown. He enjoyed the fall, it was a good time to hunt, and lavish in the new warm palette of the environment. He wondered, for a moment, if he could take Abigail out to a forest. They could find a nice opening between oak trees to lay out a blanket, maybe near a river, where they could settle down and he could teach her how to fish. Alana would come with them, humming gentle tunes behind the two and encouraging them light heartedly. Hannibal could come later, with ingredients, spices, extra chairs and blankets. Maybe he could show Abigail how to light a fire, and on that fire, Hannibal could cook the fat fish they caught together. He'd show off with vegetables and techniques from all around the world. Maybe they could eat and chat together for a little while.

"Thank you for waiting Will." Hannibal stepped out of the house, pulling on his thick jacket.

"No problem.. Did you notice anything?" Will asked as they walked away from the house, the FBI agent cars and the men reloading bullets into their heavy guns.

"No, you and the FBI were quite thorough. The killer is around the same age as his victims and will be back sometime soon." Will grimaced as they wandered.

"I can't wait for that confrontation." He said only semi-sarcastically. Hannibal looked at him, as if he was contemplating a good question to pose.

"Excuse me?" A man's voice quite clearly cut through Hannibal's thoughts. They turned to face the man. He was slender, his hair flat and flopped forward to cover much of his forehead. His clothes were loose, and hung off the man like baggage.

"Do you know what's happening? Is Paul alright?" The man asked looking to Hannibal then Will expectantly.

"What's your name?" Will asked, his voice edging on intensity.

"Will." Hannibal warned.

"Each victim had a partner Hannibal maybe, what's your name?" Will pressed again.

"My-My name's Anthony. I live do you mean victim? What's going on?" Anthony yammered, staring only at Will.

"Anthony, Paul Raton is dead." Will said, blinking quickly as if to clear his eyes. He turned his full attention to the man. He watched dread slip into the his eyes, watched his spirit crumple. Tears fell onto Anthony's baggy clothes, Will watched him plummet.


	2. Sweat and Blood

Hannibal watched Anthony. He was on his knees in the mud and dirt outside what he said was his house. He saw Will watch him too, perhaps with a bit more empathy, than awkwardly ask the man to stand and talk to the police. Anthony stood on his own, nodding between sniffles. There was something off about the man that he couldn't quite place, and it made the man interesting. He smelled him as he went by, his eyes trying to put an image to his scent. His smell was odd. Will turned to him gruffly.

"What is it Will?" Hannibal asked.

"It's nothing." Will responded with a shake, he gave him a tired, crumpled smile then a chuckle.

"Hannibal, do you think we'd be able to take Abigail out to the woods?" Will asked.

"I don't see why not, we've taken her many places before." Hannibal said.

"Do you think there's any chance Alana would go too." Will asked a little quieter.. Hannibal made a mental note to write and analyze this little encounter down later. His conversations with Will were almost always interesting, even when they weren't talking about murder weapons and blood stained killers.

 _Blood.._ He thought, he looked back at Anthony for a moment, a connection formed in his mind. Anthony smelled of blood and sweat. He snapped back to Will's question.

"We'll have to see what we can do. I'm sure we can convince her a day in nature could have some healing effects on Abigail." He said. Will nodded, almost hopefully. Hannibal turned back to Anthony whimpered off to. He seemed to be finishing up, looking back at him and, with much more interest, at Will. Hannibal felt something defensive rise up toward the way he stared at him. It made him want to string him up. Usually, he'd make movements to drive killer's urges onwards. However, there was something about Anthony that made him an unattractive man to assist, past the way he stared at Will. He didn't find the lanky man particularly well mannered, and the way he killed was so devoid of the proper thought it deserved. Without the obvious bent up passion he released, his crimes would be rather dull. Plus, Hannibal wasn't really much of a fan of rape. There were better ways to use a man.

"Will." Hannibal started, he turned and locked eyes with the man, allowing himself to enjoy the attention.

"There was something strange involving Anthony, though it took a few seconds for it to truly become apparent to me." Hannibal said. Will looked at him, his eyes bracing for any new information.

"That young man reeked of sweat and blood." Hannibal said simply, then paused, "If I may make a suggestion, I-"

A crack interrupted him. A gunshot like a jab of thunder. They turned. Anthony ran towards the two at a pace much faster than what the man's legs looked to be able to achieve. A gun perched easily in his fingers. He had missed Will's torso by an inch. _Of course._ Hannibal thought looking to Will then Anthony. Hannibal grunted Will's name, pushing him away from the next bullet. Anthony swore, his eyes locked with a wide-eyed Will. He took a short breath, his eyes flashing angrily at Will's before he ran for the forest. Will struggled for his gun, drawing it and shooting once, twice, three times. Hannibal watched him slip into trance, shooting at trees, and police.

"That's enough Will." He stopped at his voice, seeing the twenty some shells scattered across the dirt. Hannibal looked at him, holding his lower hip tightly. Blood stuck to his palm, but he tried to keep his posture, to stay strong and stable.

"Hannibal?" Will whispered, and for the first time he saw right through him. Hannibal felt his chest tighten, the dread in his voice lingering with him. He hated looking so weak in front of Will. He was supposed to be a role model, and yet he hung over supporting a hip wound, his posture must have looked atrocious. He felt his body labor out heavy breaths.

"Hannibal!" The bullet wound stung, and the adrenaline that had entered his body at the moment of the shooting was fading quickly. Hannibal straightened out his back, walking slowly to the ambulance. Will was on his heels, his breathing matching the stress of each of Hannibal's step. He allowed himself a small grunt, before his knees buckled in on themselves. Will grabbed him with both arms, heaving him up from his lower back.

He allowed Will to help him, let his tense arm slip under his own and lift him to his feet. He could feel his blood pumping, veins straining against his flesh. He knew the feeling. It was the feeling when he drained the life from someone's body. He pondered, for a moment, lifting himself fully and choking him. He slipped from Will's hold before the man grabbed him again. He could feel his hands, shaking against the cold. Will brought Hannibal's head up close to his mouth, and whispered little encouragements.

"It's alright- It's alright, you're going to be okay, keep your hand on that wound, thank you, yes, it's going to be alright." Will's voice shook like his hands, but despite this, Will soothed whatever urge Hannibal once had. He decided then he wouldn't kill Will so rashly, he was perfectly fine leaning on him.

Medics swarmed around them, lifting him carefully into the truck. Will stepped into the ambulance with them, he was shaking. It pleased Hannibal the most to realize that he was worried for him.


	3. Guilty Minutes

The night stretched on, far past its normal expiration date. Will had walked with Hannibal, allowed him to be shot, and sped back with him towards a hospital all within the span of an hour and a half. It was exactly 7:34 when Will entered the hospital's waiting room, he remembered this only because of one of the patronizingly simple techniques Hannibal had suggested to him under his care.

"It's 7:34 PM, I am in Baltimore Maryland, My name is Will Graham." Will whispered quietly, rolling and crumpling a magazine in his hands. Somewhere in the midst of 10:21, a hand grasped his shoulder, shaking him from a particularly detailed daydream. Jack stood above him, his hand quickly leaving from its position once he had Will's attention.

"Good morning Will." He joked. Will double checked the clock. "They just finished up with ," Jack continued, "Nurses said the surgery went really well, so that's a blessing, he's asleep, but I can show you to his room if you want." Will nodded at the offer.

Walking into Hannibal's room was odd. Seeing the man himself, lying on a plain white bed in a plainer room was even stranger. Class was commonplace when it came to Hannibal, he brewed his own beer, helped design his house inside and out. The man never left the house without some type of business jacket, Will suspected he had designer sleepwear as well. He sat on a small chair at one side of the bed, barely acknowledging Jack as he left to speak with a nurse. Will looked at Hannibal's unconscious form again, it was weird, he expected the man to look- weaker. Somehow, despite being unconscious, wounded, and underdressed for his usual standards, he still seemed to have a subtle, radiant control of the situation. Like being shot was part of some master plan he had complete faith in.

He watched Hannibal's chest, his tender breaths rhythmical, like the beat of a slow song. His expression was ever passive, but the angles in his cheeks seemed to relax. Every once in awhile he'd hear the man let out some soft noise, a murmur or snore so gentle it might well have been a purr. After one minute in the room he noticed the man's cologne was slowly beginning to fade. In another, he discovered Hannibal was much more muscular around the arms and legs then he first thought, it took him ten minutes to realize that he had been actively checking out an unconscious man (a friend for God's sake) for twelve minutes. It was around that time Will decided to leave him, to find Jack for a ride home.

Will stepped out of Jack's car, the leaves whispering around his house, everything was quiet, until he came to his front porch. His dogs erupted with life, barking greetings as he brushed their heads. He pushed past the mass of furry bodies until he reached his bed. That called him louder than anything. He put the letter back on his nightstand. Too tired to report it to the FBI, he held it in place with a bottle he quickly drowned his fears in. _Hannibal is okay. Hannibal is okay._ _It's 1:25 AM, I am in Wolf Trap, Virginia, My name is Will Graham_

Will dreamt himself in his own house, but it was changed. Not in the usual, bloody-elk-death way, but in a nice way. The dream sheets of his bed had sewn on christmas trees on the rims, with fabric so soft he, for once, didn't want to leave the bed. He rolled on his side, a dream indentation was left in the right side of his mattress, the sheets were lightly crumpled. He wondered to himself, as he got out of bed, who had he been sleeping with? He slipped on a pair of pajama pants, and oddly their red color didn't set him off. Will's dream dining room was organized and decorated too. A pine cone sat in the center of the table, burning joyfully and wafting in gentle incense. There was a mug on the edge of the festively clothed table. And the smell of italian coffee mixed wonderfully with the pine cone. On another, fancier table by the fireplace, he realized a record player sat, playing some Opera at a semi soft volume. It was something with lots of violins, flutes,and a woman singing deeply.

The door swung open, and in trudged a semi-snowy dream Hannibal with a furry hat. Giving a slight heave, he dropped the wood he was carrying by the fireplace, and, not hummed, not spoke, but sang along with the woman. He added wood to the fire enthusiastically, his voice drifting about like dark candy. He turned to Will with a smile.

"Good morning Will." He said, brushing off his business pants and pulling off his coat. Instead of asking what he was doing in his house, his dream self responded with a happy;

"Good morning Hannibal."

"Do you recognize this concert, Will?" Hannibal said, picking up his mug from the table.

"It's Vakula the Smith, a guilty pleasure of mine." He answered his own question with a smile,

"An opera about the Devil's meddlings with man, with a rather cliche christmas ending. I've always found it charming." Hannibal continued to smile, sipping some of his coffee. Will found himself stepping closer to Hannibal, putting a hand on his hips. Surprisingly enough, they rested well, Hannibal smiled down at him. He ran a thumb across his cheek.

"Did you have a nightmare, Will?" He said, concern, real concern, dripping off his voice.

"Yeah." Will said quietly. "But it's over now. It's over." And without even registering it, he reached up to kiss him. The kiss was gentle and warm, like the sheets of his bed. He realized then just how much he enjoyed it. Hannibal rubbed the side of his neck, then stopped. He had turned, his eyes lit up by fear. He pushed Will to the floor. A crack erupted through the scene. Will stood up. Anthony was at their window, wagging a finger as Hannibal collapsed onto him. This time, it wasn't a small hole that soaked his pant leg, it was a large dent in his leg. Will could see his bone. Hannibal sputtered, unlatching his arms from Will's shoulder and dragging himself to the sofa by the fireplace.

"Are you alright Will." He said again and again. Will stayed at his side, told him "Yes, yes I'm fine. But you're not. I'm fine. You're not."

"Get some ice from outside Will," Hannibal said shakily, clasping his leg, "It will chill the wound, we will be fine." Will clattered from his side. Rushing shoeless outside. The cold was nothing now. He looked around the house for Anthony, any sign of him. Then pulled a large icicle from the roof and rushed inside.

When he sat himself back by his side, he knew Hannibal was dead. His eyes were glassy, his hand hung loosely on the chair. The opera still played, the pine cone still burnt, but Hannibal was dead. Killed unequivocally, unimportantly, killed saving him. Will might as well have shot him himself, or plunged the melting icicle deep within his chest until there was nothing.

He was guilty.

Will woke up sweating. He ran out of bed to his bedroom and threw up.


End file.
